


Operation: Santa's Sack

by wyntera



Series: A Gift For You [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, Peapod McHanzo Week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-06
Updated: 2018-01-06
Packaged: 2019-03-01 01:34:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13284153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wyntera/pseuds/wyntera
Summary: Peapod McHanzo Week Day 5 is here! Today's prompt: On the Job/MissionDivide and conquer.





	Operation: Santa's Sack

“Okay. This is a simple mission. Get in, get what we need, and get out.”

Hanzo looks past Jesse at the group of customers milling outside the mall waiting for the doors to open. “This was a horrible idea. We should have spaced our purchases out over time.”

“Between the missions and half the team bein’ sick, we didn’t exactly have much choice.” Jesse strips off his coat and tosses it in the back seat of their vehicle. Hanzo watches, confused, and Jesse says, “They’re gonna have the heat cranked up in there. Ain’t no way I’m burning up in that thing all day.”

A second coat joins the first, and they lock the doors before heading toward the front entrance. The incessant ringing of a bell meets their ears, a charity worker standing next to a red hanging bucket at the front of the crowd. “I am already getting a headache,” Hanzo says, patting his pockets. “Do you have change?”

“We ain’t givin’ them a dime,” Jesse mutters, shuffling toward the back of the group.

“Why not?”

Jesse leans over so their arms touch. “Discriminatory bunch of fuckers. Been treatin’ folks that are different wrong for most of this century. Don’t you worry none, we’ll donate to that children’s home box down by the food court.”

When they pass through the doors neither man throws change in the bucket, and Jesse grits his teeth and glares at the side of the man’s head.

The inside of the mall is decked out in holiday decor, red and green and gold, blue and white and silver, tinsel and ribbon and what is surely a fire-hazard-worth of twinkle lights. And over it all a constant stream of Christmas music just loud enough that it cannot be ignored. They both take a deep breath.

“Do you remember the plan?” Hanzo asks.

“Of course I do. Divide and conquer. You’ve got your list?”

Hanzo nods. “Meet you at the food court at one?”

“Sounds good.” He leans down and pecks Hanzo on the cheek. “Good luck. Love you.”

“Love you, too.” Hanzo watches Jesse strike off into the crowd, shaggy head above the rest. He wishes they could do this together, but there is just no time. They have one day to get everything they need. Squaring his shoulders, he sets off for the first store.

 

\---

 

No. No, no, no, no, no. There are too many people. Why are there so many people? Why are they all so aggressive? What is so special about a video game?

Hanzo strains to look over the throng of customers all shoved together elbowing their way to the back of the store. They are not all there for a copy of Pokemon Chocolate and Vanilla (and what is with these names, he will never understand) but there are enough to be a problem. There are only so many for sale, after all. Genji and Efi have been talking about this game nonstop for the past month. There is nothing that Efi has wanted more. And if he has to listen to Genji bring it up one more time Hanzo is going to snap.

There is no way he is not getting these games.

Ducking down a side aisle, Hanzo gives one of the metal shelves a quick pressure test. It holds firm, or at least firm enough for his purposes. A quick glance to each side, then Hanzo climbs the shelves to the top. Five leaps, fast as lightning, and he lands in the electronics section right next to the display and in front of a startled father of two. He snatches up a copy of each. Success!

Hanzo turns to find an employee staring at him with mouth agape. Also about two dozen customers. He turns to the employee and holds up the games in one hand. “So can I pay for these here, or do I need to go to the front?”

 

\---

 

Everyone on base knew Orisa was getting a puppy for Christmas. They had to know, because the puppy was going to be living there with the rest of them and Winston had to make sure none of the agents had allergies or any strong aversion to dogs. Other than a few rules about cleanliness and designating some dog-free zones, everyone had been on board. So some puppy supplies just made sense to go along with her new pet.

Jesse can admit that he might be going overboard, tossing yet another fuzzy stuffed animal into his basket. This one is a fox that squeaks when thrown around and the squeaker sounds completely different than the other three toys in the basket, so it is perfectly justifiable.

He forces himself not to pick up any more and moves around to the bird section. Bird seed is a cheap gift, and he tosses a bag in with his other purchases, but he needs something else. Colorful blocks, little rope climbers, Bastion has those hung all over the place. What would be something more interesting?

A shiny flash catches his eye. Hanging mixed with the other toys is a square column with mirrors on each side and a perch all around the bottom, all colored in pink and yellow. He picks up the toy and holds it up. How many silly animal videos has Genji shown him with birds dancing at their own reflection? Ganymede will be entertained for hours, and Bastion will be delighted.

Jesse carefully puts the toy in his basket and turns to head for the counter, then makes a detour to the waist-high plastic cages in the middle of the store. They have guinea pigs and rabbits and ferrets! No reason not to take a short break and pet some cute furry critters before he continues his shopping.

 

\---

 

There are more patterns than Hanzo was expecting. Sure, the store might have the word bed in the name, but they have other merchandise too. This is more bedding than anyone should have to sort through. Lucky for Hanzo he cut out a huge portion of his options just by asking a store associate where the California king-size quilts are.

Reinhardt is a big man. A giant of a man. A man that size tends to deal with a lot of things too small for his body, comfortable blankets included. His room at the Watchpoint is a California king, and even though his comforter and sheets fit the quilt he has folded on the end does not. He mentioned it just last week over breakfast, feet covered in hand-knitted socks courtesy of Mei. With his current quilt he can cover his shoulders or his feet, not both. Simply unacceptable.

Hanzo dismisses anything floral, not because Reinhardt would not like them, but because he currently shares a room with Ana and she has complicated opinions about floral. In fact, most of the patterns he shies away from. A quilt with solid blocks of white, gray, and navy catches his eye. He patiently waits for an associate to retrieve it from the high top shelf for him--he need not be scolded for climbing shelves twice in the same hour--then joins the end of the long checkout line.

 _A Holly Jolly Christmas_ keeps him entertained, head bobbing along and imagining Jesse singing as he tends to do this time of year.

 _Rockin’ Around The Christmas Tree_ is accompanied by a slow shuffle forward five feet.

 _Silver Bells_ has Hanzo shifting the weight of Reinhardt’s gift in his arms. These quilts get heavy.

 _It’s Beginning To Look A Lot Like Christmas_ has him wishing for his bow. He could take out the speaker overhead without problem.

 _Silver Bells (Remix)_ has him realizing there is more than one speaker, so he would need to find the source.

By the time he gets up to the counter, the Trans-Siberian Orchestra’s version of _Carol of the Bells_ is playing and Hanzo has sworn that the next time Jesse sings a Christmas song he getting an arrow to the knee.

 

\---

 

Jesse tries to hold his head high as he walks across the threshold of this soap and perfume hell, but the judgmental looks of every person in the store make it really hard. Yes, he may not be their typical clientele, but he is not an animal. Hell, he even uses body wash, some sandalwood and tobacco leaf scented stuff Hanzo gave him.

Not this peach and freesia nonsense. The bottle might say Country Apple but he has never smelled an apple like that in all his life. Smells like chemical death.

Best to stick to the list. He pulls his phone out and scrolls to Lúcio’s entry. _Cute as a Cucumber_ and _Hello Gorgeous_ bath bombs. What the hell is a bath bomb? What flavor is _Hello Gorgeous?_ Why is nothing in this store arranged by type? Everything is piled together; no wonder people spend so much money in here. They just want to make it worth their time.

He finds bath bombs after walking a circuit of the store four times--turns out a bath bomb is some sort of fizzy soap, who knew?--and by then has a pretty good idea of the layout. The other item on his list for Lúcio is some sort of eucalyptus bath soak. That particular item is easier to find. Jesse picks up the bottle of sea salts and blended oils that claims to relieve stress. Huh. He did not know Lúcio was in need of stress relief.

Jesse looks at the bottle, then at the other products in the same line. “S’cuse me, ma’am? Y’all wouldn’t happen to have a gift basket of these, would you?”

By the time Jesse checks out he has a basket full of relaxation products and a raging headache. He high-tails it out of there, gulping in the relatively fresher air of the main mall. Good thing he knows a perfect little store that sells natural, light-scented products on the lower floor. Getting Torbjörn’s beard oil will be a lot easier.

 

\---

 

“Hello. I have an order waiting for me, under Hanzo Shimada.”

“Oh, of course!” The associate brightens with a dazzling smile. “Just wait right here and I’ll get that for you.”

Hanzo does as instructed, glancing over the bracelets and earrings in the glass cases. Across the store a father has his daughter up on his hip looking at pendants for her mother. She keeps smudging her finger into the glass pointing out which ones she likes.

“Here we are!” Hanzo turns back to the counter just in time for the friendly employee to lay a gold ring out for him to see. “I think it turned out beautiful.”

The loop is a matte gold, not shiny or flashy. Jesse may be bold in his style but not with jewelry. Hanzo picks it up and runs his finger over the pattern. It took him months to find just the right design; when he stumbled upon this ring with an engraved pattern of Southwestern-style diamonds, Hanzo had never felt more relieved. He would have taken it home on the spot if the size had been right. “It is perfect,” Hanzo says, feeling the metal warm between his fingers.

“Fantastic! Would you like it gift-wrapped for you?”

Hanzo smiles down at the ring. “Yes, that would be lovely. Thank you.”

 

\---

 

“How can you eat that?” Hanzo asks, nose wrinkling.

Jesse has enough manners to know not to speak when his mouth is full, so he waits until he is done chewing his and swallows his calzone to answer. “Listen, I ain’t had Sbarro’s in damn near two decades. Let me enjoy this.”

Hanzo shoves a napkin at Jesse’s prosthetic. “There is grease dripping down your hand.” He opted for the relatively healthier option of honey chicken after trying a sample of all the offerings at the generic Chinese restaurant on the other end of the food court. Not the best honey chicken he has had, but certainly not the worst. The fried rice is dry, though.

Their accumulated purchases are piled on the table next to their trays, already a formidable stack with plenty more to go. Some of them are too wrapped in paper and plastic to be discernible. “What is in those?” Hanzo asks, motioning toward the ones that are double-bagged in the chair next to Jesse.

“Ah. I hit up that kiosk down near the sporting goods place. You know, the one with the boats? They had all sorts of food gift baskets. Got one for Mako with a bunch of fancy cheese, and one for Jamison with a set of the hottest hot sauces I could find. Threw in a bucket of margarita mix for them to share while I was at it. Then every jar of gourmet nut butters I could find for Winston--did you know they make pistachio butter?”

“Er...no. I did not. That sounds…”

“Yeah, but I figure, it’s unique, right?” Jesse takes a sip from his cup, the straw making a loud gurgle noise as he drinks the last of his soda before hitting just ice. “And then I got Fareeha a summer sausage box.”

Hanzo wrinkles his nose. “Jesse, that is so tacky! Could you find a less generic gift?”

“No, it ain’t like that! She loves those things!” He cleans his hands and balls up his napkin on his empty plate. “She’s a fiend for ‘em. Trust me, it won’t make it past Christmas day. I’ve seen her eat like three of those things in one sitting. Hurts my intestines just thinkin’ about it. Oh! And I grabbed Winston one more gift.”

“What is it?” Hanzo asks, watching Jesse lean over to dig through one of the bags. “I thought we agreed to stick to our budget.”

“Nothin’ too pricey.” Jesse unwraps a small object from a bundle of brown paper to reveal a white coffee mug, the sort of cheap ceramic kind you see at a million dollar stores. In black print on both sides it reads _#1 Boss._ “What do you think?”

Hanzo sighs, smiling. “Alright. It is perfect for him.”

Jesse looks pleased, rewrapping the coffee mug and storing it safely back in the bag. “Figure now’d be a good time to take this load to the car and start out fresh for part two of this little mission. You got anything you want me to throw in the trunk.”

Eyes flying wide, Hanzo has a brief moment of sheer panic. The bag with the engagement ring is tucked in with Reinhardt’s quilt. Is it hidden enough? What if it falls out while Jesse is loading the car? Or what if Jesse sees it? What if he gets curious and looks inside? “Um!” Hanzo grabs at the bags and pulls them close. “I can help. No need for you to carry them all. You go ahead and throw away our trash, I’ll gather them up.”

The suspicious behavior fools nobody, but Jesse does as he is told, smiling to himself as he heads for the bins with their trash. He can recognize hiding a gift from someone just fine.

 

\---

 

Finding something for Angela is always a problem. She is very particular about some things to the point it is not even worth trying, and she is uninterested in most hobbies, workaholic that she is. Food-gifts tend to not get eaten; Jesse has found boxes of chocolates still sitting on her desk months after they are given, only a few pieces missing from the tray. Angela is the type that is always saving things for the perfect moment, then never getting around to having a treat.

He finds himself wandering a store that specializes in trendy gadgets and multipurpose doodads, no real idea in mind and just hoping something pops out at him. There are a slew of kids in here today, either ogling the quadcopters and RC cars or just touching everything. The kids-to-parents ration seems abnormally high. Jesse dodges two running full-tilt and a third clips his knee, making him grunt in pain. The kid barely stops, shooting him a look as if Jesse was the one that was in the wrong, and gives chase to his friends. Jesse ducks into an aisle hoping to avoid any more near-collisions.

Which is how he finds the noise-canceling headphones. They would be perfect for Angela when she is off-duty; even when she knows there are other people that can handle the infirmary, if she hears an alert over the comms she always comes running anyway. There is no one in Overwatch in more need of a break than Angela Ziegler.

An ear-piercing scream from the other side of the store reawakens his earlier headache. Definitely a worthwhile gift, he thinks, tucking the box under his arm. At the counter he looks through the basket of stress balls and finds one painted like a green chicken. He squeezes the ball and the face bulges out comically. Perfect. He adds it to his purchases, whistling a little tune to himself.

 

\---

 

Hanzo has mixed feelings about the new-age shop tucked away in a secluded back corner of the mall. On the one hand, there is some clear cultural appropriation happening with some of these products. Cheap cultural appropriation, which in his opinion, is even worse. At least put in some effort to get quality products. But on the other hand, there are some good finds in the store that, if he were not sticking strictly to budget, he would pick up for himself. Plus this place is the only part of the mall that does not smell of either cloying perfume or the not-so-subtle stench of body odor. The incense they are burning may be cheap but it is familiar and soothing in a way the rest of the mall decidedly is not.

He also gets to look at their collections of pretty rocks and gemstones, and who does not love that?

His original plan was to pick up some Shambali prayer flags for Zenyatta, but their selection is dismal. All they have in stock are paper versions, not the fine cloth prints he was hoping for. Instead he gets to talking with the omnic behind the counter and he is soon inspecting a hand-forged set of singing bowls. They have a simple swirling inlay, seven different metals that the store keeper says represent each of the chakras. Everything is going well, until he hears the price.

“Oh,” Hanzo says, putting the bowl down quickly. There is no way he can spend that kind of money on Zenyatta and not everyone else.

The omnic hums, understanding. “We do sell them individually.”

His shoulders slump with relief. “I will take this one, then,” he says, selecting one of the smaller of the choices.

“Wonderful. Is there anything else I can show you today?”

Hanzo hesitates, glancing around the store. No sign of Jesse in sight. “Perhaps. I am trying to find a gift for someone but have yet to find something appropriate. They are my boyfriend’s--um, perhaps, soon-to-be fiancé’s mother...type...figure?”

“Well, congratulations in advance,” the omnic replies, tone lightening with humor even as their face remains impassive. “So you want to make a good impression?”

“Yes. She is an intimidating woman.” What can he say about Ana Amari? That she loves sniper rifles and a good war story? “She likes tea?”

The omnic comes around from behind the counter and leads him through the store. “I think we can work with that.”

After spending an inordinate amount of time looking at, touching, picking up, opening, fake-pouring, and fake-bashing-over-the-head, Hanzo finally picks a black cast-iron teapot, flat and wide with gold accents stylized like a crane. It has a Japanese style to it, a bamboo handle and a set of handleless tea cups. He hopes that the gift expresses...well, he is not even sure what at this point. That he is worthy of her pseudo-son? Anyway, if nothing else it will make an effective weapon.

While he waits for the cashier to wrap his gifts, Hanzo senses movement from his peripheral. A group of teenagers entered the store a while ago, moving as a clustered group and snickering to themselves. Hanzo turns his head just in time to catch one of them palming something from the paraphernalia area of the store, a space suddenly bare on the shelf where a pipe used to be. They move as a group toward the exit, picking up speed the closer they get.

“Excuse me,” Hanzo says to the cashier. Off like a shot, he darts toward the group and snags the teenager by the hoodie. He flails, nearly swiping a red statue of Ganesha off a stand, but Hanzo holds firm. The group of accomplices flee at the first sign of trouble, leaving their friend to take the fall.

“Hey man! Let me go! I didn’t do nothin’, let me go!”

“Shut up.” The steel in Hanzo’s voice is enough to have the kid quiet down. Calm as can be, Hanzo hauls the youth back around to the counter. The omnic still looks unaffected in the face, but their hands flutter in shock. Hanzo gives the teenager a shake. “Hand it over.” Once the pipe is placed on the counter, Hanzo turns him around and stares him down. “Do not come back. And no more stealing. Understood?”

The kid squeaks out, “Y-yes sir!” As soon as Hanzo lets him go he takes off running. Hanzo watches him go, sighing with faint nostalgia. The boy’s green hair reminds him a lot of another young and foolish youth he once knew.

Hanzo remembers himself and digs out his wallet, handing his card to the omnic. While they run the card through the system, they tap at the cash register, lights along their face glowing bright. “Lucky for you, sir, we are having a flash sale. How does a twenty percent discount sound?”

 

\---

 

“Okay, got the coffee maker,” Jesse says, tapping the box for Lena and Emily. They just moved into a new apartment and everyone needs a good coffee maker. “Got the blender,” he continues, tapping the taller, skinnier box. Zarya goes through blenders like tissue paper with all those complicated smoothies she makes. This one says it can blend damn near anything; if anyone can test that theory, Zarya can. “Got Jack’s grill tools and a barbecue book.” The book had been a boon. Jesse is about sick of having Jack’s substandard barbecue.

Jesse checks everything in his cart off the list on his phone and heads for the cash registers. Everyone is loaded down with big boxes. This one guy in the other line has six food processors in his cart for some reason. And the woman that gets in line behind Jesse has about two dozen various kitchen products all in the same shade of teal.

His line moves forward and the person in front of him, an older woman a good foot and a half shorter than him, slowly begins the process of placing each item on the counter one by one. The cashier makes no move to assist in any way, smacking at his gum and checking his phone. Jesse itches to move around and help but the aisle is too narrow to squeeze by with his own cart in the way. He fidgets as she leans down to pick up each candle and pack of wax cubes individually. Then she pauses to count out each decorative soap to make sure she got the right amount.

For a few precious moments as the cashier scanned each item and read the total, Jesse thought that would be the end of his waiting. Then he watches, crestfallen, as she reaches into her giant purse and pulls out her checkbook. From the lady behind him Jesse hears a faint, “Oh, God, no.”

 

\---

 

The walkways of the home and garden store are wide for a reason. People should be able to walk at a normal pace on either side. They are meant to move through the store with ease. If you are not trying to get through the store, or you see something that piques your interest, you are to step to the side. Everyone knows that. Everyone.

Except these people.

The group of eight walk like they have nowhere to be, like time is something that other people need to worry about, and like the walkways are there for their personal enjoyment. Hanzo has tried being patient. He has tried to pass on the left. He has tried to pass on the right. He has tried to loop around the long way as fast as possible only to come out right behind them again. Hanzo has already calculated the trajectory needed by a scatter arrow to take out all eight in one go.

He just manages to squeeze past when they stop to admire a display of an inflatable yard Santa, and he breathes a sigh of relief at no longer being stuck behind the slowest group of people in existence. The left side of the aisle has shelves filled with lawn ornaments that Hanzo browses through carefully. What would Bastion like? Most anything, is the problem. Bastion is easy to please as long as you are not hurting anything innocent, and there are plenty of nature-themed options. But nothing seems quite right. He also has to keep in mind that while the gift is for Bastion’s garden, everyone else has to look at it. If he picks out a sickeningly-adorable rabbit figure some of the less-scrupulous of the agents will probably use it for target practice.

The garden gnomes catch his eye, though. They are quaint and cute enough to appeal to Bastion’s tastes, and ironic enough for the others to find funny. Garden gnomes are universal. The one he picks out in the end looks an awful lot like Torbjörn and the dour expression he makes if you take the last of the coffee. Everyone can have a good laugh about it.

Pleased with his choice, Hanzo heads back the way he came, happy to almost be done with his half of the list, He looks up and sees a familiar group spread out four-wide heading up to the front, too. They all stop to laugh out loud at something the tallest one says.

No, scatter arrow would be too lenient. He would use the dragons for them.

 

\---

 

People are so creative, Jesse decides as he flips through yet another pack of fifty patterned paper sheets. Scrapbooking might not be his cup of tea, but he has to admire how people can take all these pretty little papers and stickers and labels to make such happy books. Mei picked up the hobby not long after her return to warmer temperatures as a way to cope with the loss of her team back in Antarctica. Survivor’s guilt, Angela had called it. Jesse knows a thing or two about that.

The first few books were catharsis, but her more recent books are filled with the here and now. She loves taking pictures--her own or those donated by everyone else--and compiling memories of their time together. They serve as a strong reminder of what they fight for and that they have a family to rely on. Needless to say, they all encourage Mei’s scrapbooking habit.

A variety pack of solid colors and a textured pack of cowboy-themed papers sounds good to him, and he throws in a sticker set with all sorts of dragons. Now he just needs to find craft foam.

This proves harder than it should be. Jesse scours the arts and crafts store but cannot find hide nor hair of anything remotely like what Hana described. The closest he sees is styrofoam balls, and she is not a seven-year-old making a solar system model. Hana was very specific to get this particular foam that worked best for cosplay. Maybe he can find an employee to point him in the right direction.

When he approaches customer service he knows he should have just kept looking on his own. There are three other people in line behind a middle-aged woman glaring daggers at the young woman behind the desk. A quick look around shows there is only one other person working the far register and they are swamped. No wonder she looks overwhelmed. “--this coupon is for last week. It’s expired, ma’am.”

“But it was in your sales paper,” the customer insists.

“Yes, it was, but this sale ran three weeks ago. This coupon is no longer valid. We have a more current sale paper if you want to take a look--”

“The whole point of coming here was to use the coupon!” She shoves her hand forward, the slip of newsprint clutched in her manicured fingers. “Buy one get one free! I have to get these!”

Jesse glances at the counter where there are two paint-by-number sets waiting to be bagged. They cannot be more than ten dollars together.

The cashier keeps her hands to herself. “Ma’am, we can’t accept it if it is expired. I understand if--”

“No, _you_ don’t understand,” the woman replies, vicious. “The coupon says buy one, get one free, in clear English. Can’t you read English?”

Anger and hurt flash across the cashier’s features. “Ma’am, I need to help the other customers. If you can step aside, I can help you after--”

“I will not move!” She scoffs, pushing the coupon across the table and leaving it there to emphasize her statement. Looking back at the uncomfortable-looking customer behind her in line, she says, “Can you believe they give these people jobs and then leave them unattended?”

Now, Jesse has been on his feet all day. He is tired. He is hungry. His feet are sore. He still has one more stop before he can head for the car. And he has spent a hefty amount of money over the past few hours, more than he tends to in a given day. Safe to say, he is at a tipping point. And this lady just gave him a mighty push. “Hey,” he says loud enough to silence everyone in line. “The lady told you to move along.”

The soccer mom’s head whips around, bangs bouncing. “Excuse me?!”

Jesse juts his chin at the cashier. “She said the coupon’s expired. What do you expect her to do? She just works here; she don’t make the rules. You’re holdin’ up the line.”

There is a low murmur of approval that ripples through the line. Several others nod in agreement. The cashier, shaking slightly from adrenaline, looks at him like a hero cowboy that just came riding into town to save her, the orphanage, and all the little children. Makes him feel ten feet tall.

Then the customer narrows her eyes like the surliest of bandits and turns back to the cashier to utter seven deadly words. “I want to speak to the manager!”

 

\---

 

Every parent with a child old enough to stand in line by themselves is in this coffee shop. Hanzo knows this because he is the only one not craning their neck to look out of the store and check that their precious little one is still waiting in line to see Santa Claus. That was a tradition Hanzo never experienced as a child. Hanzo has trouble imagining what it would be like to be excited to sit on a strange old man’s lap. He does not even remember believing in Santa Claus, or Hotei-osho, or any other Christmas idols.

Now, Jesse, on the other hand, Hanzo is sure believed in Santa, at least as a young child. He can just imagine the cowboy waddling up to the jolly man in red, plopping down on his lap, and exclaiming loud and proud what he wants for Christmas. The vision even has a little cowboy hat and boots. Jesse probably asked for an air rifle like the kid in that Christmas movie Jesse has to watch every year.

Jesse does not have any pictures from before his Blackwatch days, so Hanzo will never know if his guess is accurate. Maybe Jesse can remember for him, though.

The person in front of him moves off and Hanzo steps up to place his order. “And a giftcard, please,” he adds. Of all their friends, Satya is by far the easiest to buy for.

 

\---

 

_Where are you?_

_Almost done, meet you at the entrance._ Jesse pockets his phone just as a sales associate with a dazzling smile brings his order from the back.

“Here we are!” she exclaims, laying a gold ring out for him to see. “I think it turned out beautiful.”

The loop is a matte gold, not shiny or flashy. Hanzo likes the ribbons for his hair to have a nice sheen, but for jewelry he prefers something more understated. Jesse picks it up and runs his finger over the pattern. It took him months to find just the right design; when he stumbled upon this ring with an engraved pattern of dragon’s scales, Jesse had never felt more relieved. He would have taken it home on the spot if the size had been right. “It’s perfect,” Jesse says, feeling the metal warm between his fingers.

“Fantastic! Would you like it gift-wrapped for you?”

Jesse smiles down at the ring. “Yes, that’d be mighty kind of you. Thank you.”

 

\---

 

Arms laden with packages, boxes, and bags, the two tread across the parking lot, the ringing of that cursed bell following them all the way to their car. They are sore. They are weary. But they return victorious.

“I don’t know about you, darlin’, but I’m beat,” Jesse says, slamming the trunk. He just barely managed to get it closed. “How do you feel about take-out?”

“Burgers,” Hanzo replies. His stomach is already growling. “Burgers and a long shower, then bed.”

“Sounds good.” Jesse leans down and pecks Hanzo on the cheek, opening the passenger door like a gentleman. Then he goes stock still, face blank.

“What?” Hanzo asks.

Jesse looks at Hanzo like he just realized something awful. “Please tell me you picked up wrapping paper.”

Hanzo stares back for a long moment, horror settling over him. Then he collapses into the car. “Not it!” he cries, grabbing the door and slamming it shut.

“HEY! Hanzo! Hanzo? Honey, I’m not goin’ back in there by myself. Hanzo? Hanzo. Unlock the door. HANZO!”

**Author's Note:**

> If you like that and want more, want to check out my art, or just want to chat, come on by my tumblr! You can find me under username wyntera. And if twitter is more your game, come and join me there, just look for @ThreeCatDesigns.
> 
> And hey. Thanks.


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